Needed Distractions
by Waffles7
Summary: It had been a long day due to the battle on the front line. All England wanted to do was catch up on needed hours of sleep, but of course he finds France lounged out on his cot. FrUK Lemon Set During World War III


Author Notes: Another fun one-shot! It is my first time with FrUK, so I hope I did alright! ^.^ Warning: Lemon. This one-shot is based off my roleplay site. It is set during World War III a few months after Ludwig was captured by Ivan and the city Warsaw was lost to the Russians. Btw, if you like to role play, we are actually looking for an England and France on our roleplay site. We also have a bunch of other openings like Prussia, Canada, and Italy. If you're interested, feel free to send me a PM and I'll send you a link to the site. Anyways, hope you enjoy! Don't be too hard on my England and France. I usually only write Russia and America.

* * *

"Bloody winter," he cursed under his breath as he traversed through their current campsite. His military boots crunched on the snow with each step. He despised the sound. It served as a constant reminder the current situation on the Eastern European Front. They had lost Warsaw last week, and he suspected more gains would be made by the Russians in the upcoming months. If they could hold the line until the spring he would consider it a success at this point.

He used to enjoy winter. Snow flakes frosted on his window usually meant the upcoming holiday festivities. Sparkling Christmas Trees would be brought out across London, and he always enjoyed strolling Hyde Park during the season, or going to Waterloo for the Christmas Market. He often bought a new ornament for his collection that had expanded over the centuries. If he was feeling very gracious, he would invite over Francis, Alfred, and…oh he always forgot his name. Francis would be unbearable as always, and Alfred would spout out something idiotic about needing to open present up a day early, Arthur would find satisfaction in the events. Curled in a blanket sipping hot coco as he watched the others tear apart presents, well mostly Alfred tear them apart. The boy had no self-control. He smiled softly at the memory before he sneezed loudly into his arm. "I do not have bloody time for this," he snapped to himself, at his unbearable cold that had yet to leave him for the past couple days.

He stomped towards his tent, ignoring the sad silence of all the men at camp. It had been a long time ago since those days, and now Christmas was only a couple days away and once more, he would be spending it on the battlefield. He roughly pulled opened the tent cover and walked in. He stopped in his track when he saw a Frenchman in a flashy uniform laying on his cot a magazine in hand acting like he owned the place. "What the hell are you doing in my tent?" he shouted as he came in. "You should be with your men, frog," he muttered and started to remove his weapons.

Francis chuckled seeming unaffected by his current mood. "Mon ami, I am enjoying some light reading. You do have the most interesting material," he remarked in a glossed over voice. The magazine shifted horizontal for the Frenchman to obtain a better look.

"What are you…" he started as he turned around, and finally realized exactly what magazine he was reading. His face turned bright read as he dropped his weapons and ran right to the cot to rip the magazine out of his hand. "Do you snoop through everyone's personal items?!" he yelled, in a higher pitch voice before turning away and trying to stuff the magazine under his clothes.

"I was bored waiting for you, so I found some light reading. Ohhonhon, I never thought you were into nurse role plays," he didn't need to turn around to know Francis was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Arthur's face had turned even redder if that was even possibly and he whipped around to smack the man hard on the head. "It is none of your business!" he yelled.

"OW!" Francis yelped and rubbed his head, pouting out his bottom lip, "You are always so cruel, Angleterre."

Arthur's hand had turned into a fist. If only hitting Francis would shake his brain back into place, but he had hit him so often over the centuries, he learned the man only grew more annoying. "We are fighting a bloody war right now, and you use your free time to read dirty mags! You should be strategizing with your men. For fuck sakes, Ludwig has been captured as a prisoner, and we lost Warsaw," he lost his temper. Francis spent too much time chasing women's skirts and not enough time staring at the battle map. If they had some decent help from the French maybe they wouldn't be in this current situation. He had seen Russia's General Winter, and if Ivan had his way, he suspected he was bringing the nasty spirit closer and closer to the front lines. Not that anyone believed him when he spoke about the spirit. They couldn't see Flying Mint Bunny, they certainly did not see the General. Speaking of Flying Mint Bunny, he missed him. He would know how to cheer him up.

Francis swung his legs off the cot and sat up, staring at the Englishman as he continued to rub the back of his head. "Arthur, you act as if I have been absent from the battle. I've been facing it too," the man said with a tired sigh, and it strangely caused the Englishman to calm slightly. Francis had lost men too. He knew and losing men was the worse for any nation. It felt as if pieces of your souls flickered away with each dead corpse. "Is it so horrid of me to want to spend some time with mon ami before we continue the battle tomorrow?" he gave him a soft small smile, but Arthur could see he was in his own thoughts as well.

Arthur sighed in frustration. He supposed there was no ill harm in spending time together. "Fine," he muttered and returned to his desk to pull off his gloves.

"We all must have our breaks," his small smile turned into a smirk, "And I must point out, Angleterre, that I am not the one who owns the dirty magazine, which means you are one wasting time on it."

"FROG! I swear to bloody lord!" Arthur snapped back, and Francis held his hands up in defense

"Only teasing, mon chere," Francis laughed and laid back on the cot.

The Frenchman would be the death of him. Arthur was certain. He mumbled annoyances under his breath as he pulled off his jacket as well and laid it on the chair before pulling said chair out and sitting on it. He finally sighed and buried his face into his hands. He felt cold, freezing actually, except his body was sweating. He could feel the sweat dripping down his neck. He would ignore it. Sickness was caused by economic difficulty, and there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. He had to keep fighting, keep fighting, and win this war.

"Are you feeling alright?" Francis asked with a touch of true genuine concern, "Not to be rude, but you look quite…diseased." The Frenchman shuttered. He never liked illness.

Arthur glared at him from under his hand, "It's nothing I can't handle. I'm fine."

He heard the Frenchman sigh. "You are even more testy than normal, so I take that as a no." He heard the man shift off the cot and walk towards him. "Arthur, you really need to stop doing this to yourself," he felt a grip on his forearm and tried to shift away from it, but the grip stayed and yanked him up from his chair. He groaned, not wanting to move. Could Francis chosen another day to harass him? He felt too tired for their bickering. He followed his movement and allowed the man to place him in the cot. Once in the cot, he fell back and laid out, bringing his own hand to his forehead. His breathing felt haggard. He heard Francis tsk to himself, "You always do this during war. You need to take time to go back home, to take care of yourself." He felt an additional weight come to the cot as he felt Francis sit down beside him.

"I told you, I'm fine. It's a cold. I can still fight just fine. Small recession. We will be out of it soon," he stated, batting away his hand as it tried to reach up to touch his face.

It finally did, and Francis shook his head, "You are burning up, Arthur. You need to get home. I can handle the front."

Arthur let out a half laugh. " _You?_ Handle the front? Ludwig is god knows where in Moscow, Alfred is off in the Middle East or South America, and you expect me to let you led the front?" he laughed and looked at the blonde taking him in subconsciously. Francis truly was quite beautiful, though he would never admit it aloud. The man had far too much confidence in his sex appeal.

"Excuse you!" Francis snapped and poked the Englishman roughly in the chest, "I can hold my own as well as the three of you."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Yes, I remember you doing so well in the second World War."

It was Arthur's turned to be smacked on the head, and it rang in his ears. "Ow, what the bloody hell was that for?" he lashed out, even though he knew the exact reason. He glared at Francis, who sat their shaking, his face contorted into that awful expression he hated seeing on him.

"You brutish rude man!" Francis yelled back.

Guilt weighed low in his stomach, and he inwardly scolded himself. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Francis' shaking fist. "I apologize. I'm tired. The war been getting the best of me," he said softly. When he felt his shaking stop, his fingers slipped away and he laid back down.

He could feel Francis' eyes on him. "I worry, Angleterre," he remarked, "That is all I am saying, and occasionally you are too stubborn to see what is in front of you."

Arthur grunted. He wanted sleep. He didn't want a lecture.

"You're not going to leave the front, are you?" the other stated, slight humor in his voice.

"No, not during the winter. You know Ivan in the winter," he stated.

"Mm, if that is the case. We will have to do something about your cold in the meantime. I would suggest hot soup, but I suspect your rations are as low as ours," the Frenchman stated.

He nodded and silence took over. Arthur did not mind. He looked at Francis. His eyes ran up and down his way too flashy uniform. No matter his suggestion, the Frenchman constantly insisted on wearing the best dress. If I am to die, I will die in fashion. Ridiculous nonsense because they couldn't die in the first place. He did find his company calming in a strange way. The same way he felt during Christmas when he would sit next to him and the man would pinch his cheeks. Arthur liked to say he found the affection annoying, but it was comfort in the familiar.

He watched as a devious manipulative smirk pulled across the Frenchman's face, and Arthur's eyes quickly turned suspicious. He knew that smirk very well.

"I can think of something that might help," Francis said as he tapped his chin as if in thought, "We have to sweat out your fever."

He shifted up in the cot. "Don't you start this nonsense," he muttered, but as he said it he started to cough. He coughed hard, covering his mouth with his arm. He felt a light touch rubbing his back in soothing circles.

"Arthur, you have one flimsy blanket. I am thinking of your health."

Arthur tried to push his hand away, but the cough prevented him. He managed to catch his breath and grab the canteen of water next to his cot. He down it in a couple of deep gulps before wiping his lips and shooting a glare at the Frenchman. "My health is not in your mind," he bit back.

His hand gently caressed his cheek, and his eyes followed it up his arm to his face. He looked into those blue eyes, and what he saw was always what he tried to deny. He saw worry and care and…love. He had grown up with Francis, his constant teasing and insults. Half the time he wanted to beat the man, but the other half, though he would never say it aloud wanted to lean into him for support. Over the years he supposed, mutual respect had come about. Even if the French can be stuck up snobs, he trusted the man to fight by his side. His younger self would have laughed at that very idea, but times had changed.

"I suppose the idea is not terrible," he said offhandedly and watched as the smirk grew on the other's face before his lips clashed onto his own.

Arthur's eyes fell shut as he molded into the fierce kiss. His hands lifted to grab Francis' face as he deepened the kiss, invading his tongue into his mouth. He felt his tongue rub against his own as Francis' hands moved lower and started undoing buttons on his shirt. He moaned as his fingers pinched his nipple, and found himself shifting into his body. Francis had always been an amazing lover. His shirt was ripped fully open, and he felt his hands exploring as he was pushed roughly onto the cot and their hips met in a rough grind. He gasped, breaking the kiss, as his hands moved down the other's back.

"Lay back and let big brother France handle everything," he heard him whisper, as he felt a trail of kisses go down his neck and lower on his chest. He could already feel his excitement pressing against his pants, making them uncomfortably tight. Fuck, you would think after all these years he would be used to their shags, but the man always managed to ignite fire under his skin. He felt a tongue flick out and run down his skin until he pulled away and started undoing his belt buckle.

"It is about time we took off these tacky clothes," he heard him chuckle, and Arthur shot him a glare.

"A little less talking and more doing would be greatly appreciated, frog," he muttered back, but he couldn't take his eyes off the scene as Francis freed his member. The way his blue eyes took it in caused a shutter to travel over his form. He watched as the man opened his mouth and took him in.

"Oh god," Arthur moaned as the heat of his mouth encompassed him. He could feel him as he lowered on him deeper and deeper until he was most certainly in the confines of his tight throat. Arthur gripped into the blonde's hair and moaned again, bucking slightly only to find his hips trapped by the man's hands. He groaned, and he could feel the vibration from Francis' laughter. Bloody hell he would smack the man if it didn't feel so good. He started to move in a rhythm, and he felt his tongue rubbing all over his member. It was almost too much. "Fuck," he cursed again, hoping the others in the tent next to him, particularly his Generals didn't hear how loud he was being. It felt so good.

He took him in a few more times before his lips broke off of him. "Don't stop," he whined, and Francis looked down at him with a lustful gaze.

"I can't let you have all the fun, mon ami," he remarked with a smirk as he started undoing his shirt. Arthur watched as his delicious body was slowly revealed to him. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it. Francis often appeared in his home nude, out in public nude, and well just about anywhere nude, but Arthur enjoyed the curves of muscles and those hip bones that led into his low hanging pants. The shirt was quickly tossed to the ground, and the pants were next. The man then crawled on top of him, and he didn't fight it as their lips met again. He gripped tightly onto his body, his hands running over his hot skin, exploring it once more as if it were new to him. They switched often. Sometimes Francis topped others he did, but Arthur felt too tired to fight for it tonight. He wanted the man to take control and led. He led too much on the front, too many shouting orders, and debates. He wanted someone else to have it, and he would happily give it to Francis in the bedroom.

He felt something slick slip inside of him, and he moaned into his mouth as it started to stretch him out. Where Francis had gotten lube he had no idea. The man likely carried it on his person at all times. Another finger followed and he bucked his hips too it as their mouths molded. As he felt a hand take hold of their shafts and start rubbing them together, his eyes flashed open, and his head fell back into the pillow. The kisses continued along his jaw. "You are too beautiful, Angleterre," he heard the hot whispered words against his neck followed by a moan as their shafts rubbed against one another.

He heard Francis groan as he pulled out his fingers and released their members. He felt him adjusting between his legs and a heat slowly press up against his entrance. Their eyes met, and in that moment there was a silent communication.

 _I love you._

They both leaned forward and kissed again. Arthur's nails dug into the man's back as he felt him push inside of him. He moaned deeply, tightening around the intrusion enjoying the friction as it pushed further inside of him. He felt hot and needed more. The man on top of him started to set a rhythm, in and out, in and out. Fuck, it felt so good. He could feel the precum dripping off his shaft. Their sounds mixed together as their hands ran over their sweat drenched skin.

"Fuck," he broke the kiss and nipped his bottom lip, "Faster, frog." Francis happily obliged and increased the pace, pressing deeper into him. He moaned as he hit just the right spot. He felt a teasing hand going lower until it took hold of his shaft and started stroking him at the same pace he entered. It was so much. It felt amazing. God, this was Francis' best idea so far. He felt ridiculous hot. He moaned with each hard pounding thrust until he couldn't hold back. His hands gripped tightly to his shoulders, his body clenched and he released all over their chest, moaning the man's name.

A moment more he felt the other man tense in his thrust, moaning deeply as hot seed filled him. Francis collapsed on top of him, and they stayed like that, panting and catching their breath. Arthur's hand lazily went to the man's hair to trail through it.

"How do you feel?" he heard the teasing in his voice, and Arthur laughed.

"Alright, actually," he responded, and he felt soft kisses to his chest, "You have the occasional good idea."

"You should know by now that Big Brother is a genius," he remarked.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm too tired to argue with you." He took a deep breath before quietly asking, "You will stay the night…right?"

Francis let out a girly squeal as he pulled out of him. "Oh Arthur! You only had to ask!" the man swooned and tried to plant a bunch of kisses on his face.

Arthur should have known better then to ask. He batted him away. "Enough. Enough! I might change my mind!" he snapped trying to squirm away.

Francis chuckled and laid next to him. His hands wrapped around him, and surprisingly when he was pulled closer, he didn't fight back. Instead he pressed into the hold, enjoying his scent and the familiarity of his arms. He let out a peaceful sigh as he breathed him in. They have another battle tomorrow, and Christmas would be a few days off.

Even though it would not be like the Christmases of the past, at least Francis would still be by his side, pinching his cheek in that annoying way as they share presents. He would have to find him something nice.

Not too nice.

A scarf perhaps to protect him from the cold.

Yes, that would be nice.

His eyes slowly closed as he fell asleep in his arms.


End file.
